Tim
Some friends are more unique than others. And I remember a friend who was particularly unique - Tim. I remember so clearly the day we met. I was fifteen at the time. His pants were long and black, just like his shirt. He had a navy blue jacket and his face was looking downward as if he was sad about something. The hood of his jacket helped hide his hair and the rest of his face. His shoes were black too and the parts of his skin that I could see on his hands were the most pale white I had ever seen. I had never seen him there before. It was like he had just appeared there that day. Continuing to look down, he said in a calming, deep and friendly tone “Hello, Peter.” I was rather startled to see that he knew my name. “How do you know my name?” I asked. He chuckled and said “I know a lot of things!” He paused for a brief moment. “Why not sit down with me?”, he offered generously in that calming tone he seemed to have. I smiled and sat down next to him. “I know your name, but would you like to know mine?” he asked. “Yes, I would” I responded. “My name is Tim.” I smiled. “Tim. I like that name!” he laughed to himself, “I like yours too, Peter.” The next day at the bus stop he was still sitting there. I walked over to him and sat down next to him. “I knew you would be back,” was the first thing he said, “The moment you left I was looking forward to seeing you again!” I felt so honored, “I missed you so much Tim!” “Not as much as I missed you” was his kind response. As the years went by I continued to visit Tim at the bus stop. Somehow he never seemed even just a moment older. Every day he would be a that same bus stop. We would talk about all sorts of things, we would tell jokes, stories and sometimes he would take out an old chessboard and we would play together. He had taught me how to play chess, and he was even better at the game than he was at teaching it. On my birthday and on Christmas he would always have a wrapped gift for me, and somehow he always managed to please me even with the simplest things. My favorite gifts though were the books he gave me, they were always amazing, each one better than the last. But one thing never changed - Tim never showed his face to me. I remember at the age of fifteen, I was feeling horrible, everything just seemed so wrong to me. I had no friends aside Tim, all the other teenagers picked on me and I was a disappointment to my family. I just wanted to end it all. I knew there was one person I could talk to about it and one person only because he was the only person who would care. I had just gotten off the bus from school so I went over to the bus stop. Of course, Tim was there. I sat down next to him, rested my head on his shoulder and started crying. “You’re my only friend Tim…” I managed to say through my tears. “You’re my only friend too, Peter.” I couldn’t help but cry even more. Tim sighed again, “This isn’t like you at all, Peter, what’s the matter?” I sniffed, and said “I’m a disappointment to my family, all the other people at my school pick on me, nobody wants to be around me and I can’t take it any longer!” I managed to say through my crying which had now turned into constant sobbing. “Peter… that’s so horrible… you don’t deserve to go through this...” he said softly. He reached into the pocket in his jacket and pulled out something - the same object I had seen when we first met. “You should see this,” he said to me quietly. I looked at it, it was an old photograph of a man dressed much like Tim, a beautiful woman, and a small boy, seeming to be no older than just three years old. “That was me, my wife, Linda, and my son, James.” Tim said. I saw him do something that appeared to be him wiping a tear. Tim then did something I never thought he would. He looked up and showed me his face. His eyes were gray, as if all the life had left them, his lips were gray too, his hair was short and black as night. I could see tears running down his face. “Peter… I care about you too much, I would burn myself alive if it meant I didn’t have to watch you go!” I sniffed and tried to wipe my tears away, but they kept going on and on. “Thank you Tim. I needed that. I needed that a lot.” Tim smiled and hugged me tightly, I hugged him back. “Tim?” I asked quietly “Yes, Peter?” I sniffed as he held me tightly “Why did you never show your face to me?” Tim said nothing for a moment. “I didn’t want you to see my horrible face. That’s why.” I remember a year later, as I sat on that bench with him as usual, a man with a gun came up to me, held said gun to my chest and demanded that I give him my money. “Leave my friend alone.” Tim demanded in the same tone of voice he always had. The man laughed at him, “Or what?” he said with a mock. Tim repeated “Leave my friend alone.” the man laughed again, “I won’t leave him alone until he gives me his money!” “I warn you for the last time - leave my friend alone!” once more the man laughed, “And just how do you intend to stop me?” the man mocked. Tim did not move or speak, instead he just sat there lifeless for a moment. Not even his breathing could be heard. He held out his pale hand. “I said leave my friend alone and you wouldn’t listen.” he said calmly. The man laughed again, and pulled the trigger on the gun, I really thought I was going to be killed, I really did, but when he pulled the trigger there was just a clicking noise. That was it. No gunshot, nothing. Just a clicking noise. The man frantically messed around with the gun to see what was wrong with it but nothing helped and eventually he just ran off, most likely in order not to be seen by anyone else, not that there was anyone around. Two years later, my father died, I don’t know what happened. Even though he mistreated me so horribly, I really did feel hurt that he was gone. I had never lost a family member before. I knew who would help with the pain though, Tim. I was sure he would be able to help since he had gone through something like this before, which I had learned when he showed me that photo. I remembered how long ago I had met Tim, thirteen years ago now. It felt like I had met him just yesterday, but no, it was true, we had known each other for so long, and throughout all of those years, I remembered something I had wondered about Tim but had never asked - why did he never leave the bus stop? I walked over to that bus stop where Tim always was and sat beside him, Tim chuckled “I can’t believe you’re eighteen now! It seemed like just yesterday you were a little boy but now you’re a grown man! Honestly, where does all the time go?” I sighed, Tim looked at me, “What’s wrong, Peter? Tell me, perhaps I can help.” I sniffed, “My father died...” Tim looked at me, he had been looking at me instead of keeping his head down since the day he saved my life, “I know…” he said darkly. “But how did you know?” I asked through my constant crying. He looked at me gravely. “I killed him…” I froze. “You what?!” Tim looked at me, seeming completely motionless. He began to grin, then he began to chuckle, which turned into a horrible laughter. I began to back away, worried of what he might do to me. And for the first time ever he stood up. He gazed at me. I wanted to run but I just couldn’t, almost as if something was controlling me. There was a blinding flash of light for a brief moment, and when it was over Tim looked horrifying. His face didn’t look like it usually did, it was all just a pitch black mist and two red eyes that blazed like a fire in the dark. Then I realized that in place of his hands were two massive silver talons. He slashed at me with one of those talons, which scraped me badly on the arm. I screamed in pain and began to run in terror, then I noticed there was nobody else around, it was just Tim and I. I continued to run for my life. Eventually I looked over my shoulder and saw that Tim was getting closer by the second, and I was getting more and more tired, I couldn’t run forever after all. I kept going but eventually I just couldn’t. I collapsed to the ground and blanked out. When I woke up, I was in my room in bed at home, everything seemed blurry at first, but I could still make out Tim. As scared as I was, and as much as I wanted to get out of the room, I couldn’t, I was too tired to move. Tim laughed evilly and gazed at me. Everything seemed to be slowing down around me. As I looked around I realized that I was bleeding. I watched as Tim got closer and closer… “Who… are you…?” I said weakly. Tim raised one of his razor sharp talons high above my head. “I am your greatest nightmare!” he shouted. I screamed as he brought his talon down. Everything went black. Then I saw a light. I awoke in a hospital room with a pain in my head. I must have been only fifteen, despite how I was older in my dreams. I saw my family and some doctors looking at me, seeming worried. “What…? Where am I…?” I said dazedly “What happened?” “You’ve been asleep for three days, Peter,” my father said to me. Three days? Had the whole thing just been a dream? “Come on, let’s go home,” my mother said as some of the doctors helped me get up. When I got home I went to my room and began to write down what had happened in my dream, and thought about it. Then I realized something. On my arm, I saw something that wasn't there before. A scrape mark that looked exactly like the on in my dream. Author's Note Well, I hope you liked that story, but, it's garbage, isn't it? (Then again I'm probably just being too hard on myself).